Disclaimers:
This is a work of fiction.
That means it is not true.
Didn’t happen. It’s a figment. No boys were involved or harmed in
the writing of this story and no trees were sacrificed. The
author does not condone sex with boys; he just writes
fantasies about it. Further, sex in reality requires caution and
protection, but my characters won’t catch any bad bugs unless I write
them in. Be safe and legal in the real
world, and enjoy the story
only if you are of age and location to do so legally.

**This story is the property of the
author and may not be reproduced elsewhere (i.e. other than Nifty
Archive) without his permission.** If you enjoy this story, a great way
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the Nifty Archive to help keep the
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Plus, feedback
on the
story is always
appreciated.

The references to Native American tribes, customs, history, and so on
are
totally invented, and are not intended to represent any specific tribe,
or actual customs.

*************

Chapter
9

“It must be here
somewhere,” I said, opening cupboard doors and
looking under rugs. “He would not have put that in the will
unless he
thought you would know where to find it.”

“I can’t think of
anywhere else to look,” Bo said, the
frustration obvious in his voice. “We’ve opened everything in
this
room, we’ve looked in every container, we’ve moved every piece of
furniture. I don’t know where else to look.” His eyes
filled with
tears. “He thought I’d know what he meant, and I have failed
him...”
He sank down onto one of the hides on the floor. A tear rolled
down
his cheek and dropped onto the fur beneath him. “I just don’t
know
what he meant. I feel so dumb.”

I sat down beside him
and put an arm around his shoulders.
“It’s OK. A lot of times what seems crystal clear to one person
is
clear as mud to another. Shoot, my students prove that to me
every
day! If we don’t find the key, we’ll find another way to open the
safe
deposit box.”

“ ‘I’ll find it if I
use my head.’ I’m thinking as hard as I can, and I just
don’t get what he was talking about.”

It was nearing noon,
and the hogan was hot. “Can we get some more air through here?” I
asked.

“Yeah, sure.
There’s a window over there, but it’s shuttered
from the outside. I’ll open it.” He got up and went
outside. After a
couple of thuds and grunts and “shit!’s,” light appeared, and Bo’s
face. “This thing is such a pain, and it’s heavy.” He held
up a
top-hinged wooden shutter, and then ducked his head under and used it
to support the thing while he struggled to place a couple of boards
underneath as props.

I laughed at his
awkward efforts. “That’s using the old noggin!” I said.

He froze, and his mouth
dropped open. “That’s what he meant!
Yes! He always used to say that to me when I opened this
shutter.
‘That’s using your head, Bo!’ he’d always say. It was our private
joke.” He started checking out the window frame, and in moments
yelled, “Here it is! I found it!!” He raced back inside
with the key,
“563” engraved on it.

“Uncle would be proud
of you,” I told him

At the bank, we waited
while the clerk matched our key with his,
and then he gave us the box. We entered the privacy cubicle and
set it
on the counter.

“I’m afraid to open
it,” Bo said. “You do it.”

“OK,” I said.
“Here goes.” I opened the lid, and we looked at
a couple rolls of coins on top of several layers of folded documents.

“He put two rolls of
quarters in here?” Bo asked, puzzled. “Why would he do that?”

“Not quarters,
Bo. Gold pieces. I think each one of these is
probably worth about four hundred dollars, and it looks like these are
both rolls of twenty-five. So that’s, what... Holy shit,
Bo! That’s
twenty thousand dollars!”

“No way! Lemme
see.” He counted and multiplied, and agreed with me.

“What else is in
here?” I moved the coins and lifted the first
document out. “Deed” proclaimed the cover of the blue
folder. Inside,
I found an address of property on the most historic street in
Boulder.
“Bo, your uncle owned property in town.”

And not just one, but
many. We lifted deed after deed out of
the box, and slowly it dawned on us that Uncle had owned a lot of
property. We dug down further, and found stock certificates and
tax-free bonds. The latter had long ago matured and were worth a
small
fortune now.

“Bo, your uncle was
rich. And now, so are you,” I told him. “Are you gonna be
able to associate with us poor folks?”

He looked at me as if
I’d struck him, and his eyes filled. “Do
you think I’d let money get between you and me?” he demanded, insult in
his words.

“Bo, I was teasing,” I
told him. “Come on now, you know how much I love you. Don’t
you?”

“I’m sorry, Doc.
I guess I was just overwhelmed by all this. I’m sorry I got mad.”

“And I’m sorry I upset
you,” I said. “Are we OK?” He responded with a bear hug.

We took the contents of the box back to Lyn, and
after she had done
a rough inventory and value assessment, it appeared that Bo was worth
about 2.3 million dollars, give or take a few hundred thousand.
Of
course, he could not touch it, except for a living allowance, until he
was 21. I was actually pleased with the last, for I was worried
that
his inheritance might make it appear that I wanted to adopt him for
because of the money. Lyn assured me that that would not be
a
consideration. “The court will set up a trust fund, from which
Bo’s
guardian will be able to draw specific living expenses, but will not be
available for any other purpose,” she told me. “So it should not
impact on your eventual adoption.”

We left the lock box
contents in her office safe and returned
home. Bo was unusually quiet on the drive home. Something
was
bothering him.

“What’s on your mind,”
I asked him as we got dinner together. “You’ve been very quiet
since we left Lyn’s.”

“Yeah,” he
said. “I guess.”

“So, are you gonna let
me in on it, or do I have to pry it out of you?”

“Well, I dunno. I
just don’t feel good about all this money.”

“What don’t you feel
good about?”

“Well, if Uncle had all
that money, why did he live the way he
did? Why didn’t he fix the roof where it leaked? Why didn’t he
buy
himself a decent air conditioner? Why didn’t he ever tell
me? And how
did he get all that money in the first place? I don’t know.
It just
bothers me.”

“Bo,” I said, putting
down the chopping knife and turning to
him. “Your uncle’s money and how he got it and how much there is
should not be your concern now. We’ll let the lawyers figure all
that
out. What’s important is that you and I are together now
legally.
What’s important is that your uncle loved you enough to provide for you
after he was gone. What’s important is that you and Cory and I
are
going to build a new life together. Don’t bother your brain with
things that you have no control over.” I pulled him to me and
hugged
him fiercely. “And if anyone ever tries to take you away from me,
they’ll have a major fight on their hands. Do you understand?”

Bo shuddered a bit in
my arms, and I could feel a few sobs
returning. I pushed him briefly away and looked into his
face. Tears
glistened on his cheeks, but he was again beaming. I looked into
his
eyes. “I love you, Bo. That’s all that matters. I
love you.” And I
pulled him close again.

“I love you too, Doc, “
he said into my chest. “Almost as much as I love Uncle.”

No greater compliment
could he have given me.

After dinner, Bo
watched some TV while I read some student
papers. He soon lost interest in the inane sitcoms and clicked
off the
set. He looked at the papers on my lap. “Can I read too?”
he asked.

“Sure, why not?
Some of these are actually good.” He read the
top one for awhile, and then pointed out an error I had not
marked.
“I’m not marking these for technical errors; I’m just looking at
content and organization. But you’re right. She used the
wrong word
there.”

“And there, and there,
and there,” he added. “This one is pretty sad, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.
She’s not likely to win the Nobel Prize for
literature. Hopefully, we’ll get her up to semi-OK, and she’ll
meet
the minimums. Everybody has their talents, and writing is not
hers.
Let’s look at another one.” And so we passed the evening, Bo
helping
me mark papers, making insightful and accurate observations about the
drafts. It surely made the generally irksome task more tolerable.

I put the papers
aside. “You’ve got quite an eye for writing.
You said once that you liked to write. Would you like to show me
some
of your stuff?” He blushed and dropped his head and shook
it. “Why
not? I’ll bet you’re pretty good. I’ll help you, if you
want.”

“Nah, you’d probably
laugh.”

“I promise not to
laugh,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“OK. They’re on
my hard drive.” We went into his room and he
booted up his computer. “I guess you can read this one,” he
said. “I
think it’s about my best.”

I read the first line
and was immediately impressed. “Ricardo’s
Story” was the title, and the first paragraph grabbed my attention:

It seemed like I was always hard when I
was 13. I woke up hard in
the morning I usually got hard again during first period.
During the
day, if I had to give an oral report in class, I got a hard-on.
If I
had to take a shower after PE class, I was hard. If I was sitting
down
listening to instructions in the gym, when I got up I had a boner
poking out of my jock strap. But especially, when I went to Mr.
J’s
class, I ALWAYS got hard.

“Bo,
this is a great start! Show me
more.” So he scrolled through
the rest of the story for me, a boarding school fantasy told through a
13-year old’s eyes. It was an excellent story, and it was
hot. “Your
dialogues sound like real people, and your sex scenes are
dynamite.
You've got a real talent for writing. This is better than most of
my
college students.”

“You mean it?
Really? You’re not just saying it to make me feel good?”

“I really mean
it. And I think we should think about developing
your talent. Maybe you could sit in on some of the college
writing
classes. I’ve been thinking that I’d like you to come to campus
with
me on school days anyway. What do you think?”

“I think... I think
I’ll think about that tomorrow.” He yawned,
and shifted himself onto my lap. “Let’s see if my story is
physically
possible.” He lifted my hand to his crotch, and I felt his
slender
hard-on under his new shorts. I slipped my hand inside and felt
his
velvet hardness. His hand was wandering into mine as
well. I stood
up with him in my arms, and moved us to the bed. “Did I do
anything
bad today, Daddy? I mean, was what we did in school all right?”
he
asked, shifting into the story he had written, sitting in my lap
again.

“Oh, you were very
bad. Horrible, in fact,” I answered gravely,
following the script from his story as best as I could. “I think
I am
going to have to punish you. How about ten lashes with a wet
noodle?”

“We ran out of
noodles,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, I
forgot. So I guess I’ll have to spank you instead. Turn
over.”

He lay across my knees,
and I started to pull his shorts down.
He raised his hips so I could pull the crisp new shorts down. His
erect prick pressed against my thigh. I ran my hands over his
skinny
little butt, and he squirmed a little. I gave him a gentle tap,
and
then another, and then returned to exploring his cheeks. I
followed
his cleft to his balls, and played with them for awhile, and then gave
him a slap, a bit sharper this time. I returned to his thighs,
and
delivered another slap on his butt, firm but not hard. I
continued
alternating gentle caressing with not-too-serious spanking. His
cheeks
were a little red, and Bo was beginning to make spasmodic thrusts
against me. I told him to sit up and helped him turn
around. “Have
you learned your lesson, young man?” I asked.

“I’ll take lessons from
you any time,” he replied, sticking close to his story line.

“Would you like to
learn how to do something nice for me?”

“Anything,” he said.

“OK,
first unzip me,” I instructed
him. He did so and immediately
took my own hard-on in his hand; I had no underwear on to deal with
either. “Now help me get these shorts off.” Then I leaned
back
against the headboard and maneuvered his head down so he was resting on
my stomach. “Do you know what a ‘blow job’ is?” I asked him.

“I’ve heard some of the boys talk about
getting them from the sixth
graders , but I’m not sure what they are,” he answered, playing
his
story out perfectly.

“Blow
jobs are one of the nicest things
guys can do for each other,”
I told him, guiding his head towards mine. “Take my penis and
lick it,
just like you’re eating an ice cream cone...” He
explored my rock
hard prick with his delicate tongue, leaving no nerve
unstimulated. He
moved from the tip all the way down the shaft and licked every square
centimeter of my balls, and then returned to the throbbing head.
He
took it fully in his mouth, his wet lips eagerly encasing the head like
his mouth was made for my dick. I held his head in both hands,
guiding
him up and down as I began to thrust into his face. He was
sucking
hard, and licking me at the same time, and then suddenly I was shooting
the cum I had been building up all day for him into his waiting
mouth.
It was an incredible orgasm. Wave after wave shot into his
perfect
lips; it was too much for him to swallow it all, and some of it
leaked
out and dribbled down his chin. I wiped a blob of it off his face
and
showed it to him. “Do you know what this is?” I asked him,
pulling
him up to the pillow.

“No,”
he replied, “but I sure like
it! That was awesome -- can we do it again?” And he took my
hand and licked it clean.

I laughed and said, “Not so fast -- I need
time to recuperate! You
were pretty awesome yourself. Besides, it’s your turn now.”
I turned
him onto his back, his stiff prick ramrod straight above his smooth
tummy. “I suspect it’s time for your first time.” And with
that, I
turned my attention to unleashing his manhood. It didn’t take
long; he
had been building up all day too, and his pubescent body was
ready. I
took his young rod in my mouth, relishing his sweet taste. My
tongue
caressed his solid shaft, moving from tip to base, flicking lightly
over his bulging balls, and then back to the top. As I licked and
sucked and took his five inches into my mouth, he began almost
involuntary pelvic thrusts. I rode his enthusiasm like a bucking
horse, synchronizing my own motions with his. His slender body
gave a
sudden jerk, and I could feel him trembling beneath me as his pelvis
arched upward again and again, moving in total submission to
instinct.
He came, shooting strong streams of boycum into my waiting mouth.
I
sucked him dry, and he lay panting, still trembling a bit, shiny with
sweat.

“You
are one incredible kid,” I told him,
stroking his hair gently.

“You’re
the best teacher in the world,” he
answered, and then after a pause, added, “I wish you could be my
father.”

“I can be, soon,” I
told him, returning from his story to
reality. “In the meantime, we’ll just have to pretend.” I
pulled the
cover from his bed up from where it had been pushed aside, and covered
us both.